


if i scream to the sky, my lungs shall fill with fire.

by cloudburst



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Because I just really like Petra., basically a drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-18 03:38:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3554633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudburst/pseuds/cloudburst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Yet, she had been—and had burned. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Flames were a hard thing to douse.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	if i scream to the sky, my lungs shall fill with fire.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm posting this at like 4 AM and I'm probably not going to remember writing this when I wake up. Crap.

She had a name, once—many years ago—when death was commonplace, as if losing one's breath was nothing more than a minuscule inconvenience. 

For many, hearing the name— _her name_ —had been synonymous with all things right - all things bright, spirited, and warm. —as she was similar to slow-turned orange leaves in the beginnings of early fall. 

Beautiful, but not everlasting. 

How could she be? 

Even her very own Captain had once mentioned, _'the brightest of us are the first to burn out.'_

She had laughed and questioned how that could possibly be true—was highly irrational—for shouldn't they burn the _longest?_ His answer had been a rare smile—small, like their slim chance for survival, that seemed to lower with each passing day, each time she even _blinked_ —and a calloused hand resting against the fabric of her jacket, just above where her heart should have been. 

She didn't sleep that night. 

But she was not giving up.

—would never. That meant defeat. 

Fiery eyes and spirit—she would never fail. 

It was beautiful on that day when her match was met—truly stunning. The sun had been shining, and she could not have asked for better. 

She was revered, _respected_ —had all that she had ever wanted. 

Honey colored eyes convinced a young boy to trust them—to trust her. 

He did. 

She fought.

—flew through the air. 

And when she crashed—sickening snap sounding with finality in her skull— _it was over._

* * *

_The boy looked to his sister many years later—green eyes like leaves in mid-summer._

_So different from warm honey in sunny weather._

_'Petra Ral saved my life, in a way. Prevented a decision I'd have regretted. I thank her every day.'_

* * *

She had a name, still—despite it having been many years ago. 

It died on the lips of a boy turned to man, and plunged to disuse with time.

Yet, she had been—and had burned. 

Flames were a hard thing to douse.


End file.
